


Playing with Fire

by gruumpy_cat



Series: reckless [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: HPFT, Depression, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruumpy_cat/pseuds/gruumpy_cat
Summary: And I have always loved playing with fire.- Astoria Greengrass
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy
Series: reckless [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581760
Kudos: 9





	Playing with Fire

I’m sitting at my usual table in The White Wyvern, staring out of the vaguely dirty window. Rain is drizzling outside, dark clouds drifting overhead, transforming Knockturn Alley into something far more sinister than it is on a bright, sunny day. But even bright sunny days have a hard time penetrating the inherent darkness of the Alley.

People are passing by in a hurry, huddled beneath their cloaks, casting weather protection charms against the rain, cursing when they don’t work as well as they should. It’s fairly early for a stiff drink, and yet, I am already nursing my second glass of Firewhisky, the bartender, ancient Aeschylus, occasionally giving me disapproving looks with his one eye. The other was lost in some duel ages ago, the black patch across the empty space where it used to be familiar to me as my own father’s piercing green eyes. Aeschylus is like a grandfather, his calloused hands held me when I was born and probably killed someone in the same night, doing my father’s bidding. He doesn’t approve of my drinking. But, I have never been one to care about approval, so I merely salute him with my glass before finishing the Firewhisky, tapping my fingers on the table for another one.

There is a letter on the table in front of me, the contents mildly nauseating, and mixing with my pre-existing hangover, it’s not a good combination. Yesterday was Rona’s and Colin’s birthday, something we always joked about, how they were destined to be together. Or it would have been, had they not been dead. So, self-medicating with alcohol seemed like a good idea. And after receiving that letter, relieving my hangover with more alcohol was inevitable.

I rub my temples, keeping the upcoming headache at bay for a moment, trying to think of what to do. Aeschylus stalks over, bringing two glasses with him, one filled with the familiar amber liquid and the other a delicate thing filled with blood-red, elf-made wine. I look up at him in confusion and he cocks his head towards the entrance. Daphne is there, sleek dark hair and designer robes looking somewhat out of place in The Wyvern, but then again, she is a usual presence at the pub, and no one spares her a second look.

Daphne walks towards my table, smiling at Aeschylus, kissing him on both scarred cheeks and hugging him before sitting down across from me. They exchange a few pleasantries in Greek (‘ _Ti kánis?_ ’, _‘Kalá, efharistó. Esí?_ ’, ‘ _Kalá, kalá._ ’) and he nods his head before going back behind the bar.

My sister sips on her wine, cocking one perfect eyebrow at me as she looks me over with one of her penetrating gazes, noting my messy hair, the wrinkled clothes and my haphazardly discarded cloak. Daphne catches sight of the letter and she sighs.

“Are you going?” She asks as if she doesn’t already know the answer to her question. My father’s annual fundraiser is the biggest front for a meeting of European crime lords, and he is _the_ Lord of Shadows. As one of his lieutenants, I do not actually have a choice. The fundraiser is also supposed to be a family gathering, with uncle Diomedes, one of the _godfathers of the night_ , coming over from Thessaloniki with his side of the family. So, as one of Alexander Greengrass’ daughters, I also do not actually have a choice.

But, I do not want to go. With uncle Diomedes, it is inevitable that Andreas Doukas, the self-titled Duke of Thessaloniki, his second-in-command, will be attending. And Andreas does not understand the word ‘ _no_ ’, even when it comes from someone such as myself. Of course, he always laughs it off as a joke, and ‘ _how can I even think that?_ ’, not to mention the always present ‘ _you’re frigid,_ _koritsáki_ ’, but his mere presence, his lecherous looks, his _accidental_ touches always set me off and I am bound to cause a scene.

And that would not do when there is business to be done. I can’t be seen as a silly, hysterical little girl.

I take a sip of Firewhisky while Daphne stares at me in expectation. “Of course I’m going.” I do not ask her if she will go, I know she will. Daphne has been on the receiving end of Andreas’ attention far too many times for her to be comfortable, but Finn Thompson, her husband, is going to be there with her. She does not need a man to protect her, but in the eyes of Andreas, a husband is a harder obstacle to overcome than an unwilling woman.

“You know what you need?” Daphne asks, fiddling with her glass, twirling the wine inside it. “A date, a boyfriend. A security blanket. So you don’t go cursing Andreas in the middle of everything. Though I’m not convinced that any of _them_ would bat an eye if you did.”

I snort and roll my eyes. I haven’t dated in a very long time. My thoughts immediately drift off to Draco and the night of my birthday. It happened just two weeks ago, and I haven’t actually talked to him since I broke down in front of him. This time of year was always problematic for my state of mind and the feeling of numbness offered by Firewhisky was something I preferred, as opposed to feeling the despair in full, the loss, the grief that haunted me, the tendrils of nothingness curling around my insides. Some days, I do not want to get out of bed, do not want to move at all, only wishing for the nightmares haunting me, both asleep and awake, to just _stop_.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for baring myself completely with Draco. With anyone, really. One breakdown can be overlooked, but with the way I’ve been feeling, I wasn’t fit for company. At least Draco had given me space.

“You’re mental if you think I have even a remote chance of getting a date or a boyfriend by tomorrow night,” I say, tracing a burn pattern on the table, pointedly ignoring the fact that if I asked, Draco would probably say yes. Daphne didn’t know I had sex with him again, still thinking we are just friends. And I suppose we are.

“It’s what,” I glance at my watch and feel slightly shocked at the early hour, “Ten in the morning, and I’ve already drunk three glasses of Firewhisky.” It’s an absurd excuse and we both know it. In any case, I’m obviously not the only one drinking at this hour. My alcohol intake isn’t my biggest problem, though it certainly is somewhere in the top three. The fact that I have a tendency towards lashing out at the slightest offence doesn’t help, but my mood or depression or whatever the fuck was actually wrong with me is _not_ something people can deal with. And they shouldn’t have to deal with it.

Though Draco does have an uncanny ability to somehow make me feel, if not whole, then far less broken than I actually am.

“Well, who said anything about it being a real date? You’re only in need of a human shield, not a real person,” Daphne says, nonchalantly shrugging as she takes another sip from her glass, and, as is often the case whenever I forget she was a Slytherin, demonstrates her true nature.

“Do you ever hear yourself say these things and then wonder at the words? Because you’re fucking scary sometimes,” I tell her.

“It’s called pragmatism, _adelfoúla_ ,” Daphne drawls and I roll my eyes at her lapse into Greek, a habit that resurfaces whenever uncle Diomedes is about to visit, even though in reality, we rarely speak Greek. Sometime in the nineteenth century, when our branch of the family came to Scotland, they even westernised our surname, disregarding the hard-to-pronounce Greek form. “Let me deal with this for you, yeah?”

“What does dealing with it mean?”

She drinks the rest of her wine and smiles broadly, which means I won’t like whatever comes out of her mouth next. “I’ll put in an ad, you pay the bloke, and he’ll be your… Well, fake date. It’s not a big deal, just a business transaction. Merlin knows I’ve used it myself a couple of times.”

My jaw drops, first at her suggestion, then at her admission. “When the fuck did you have a fake boyfriend?”

Daphne looks out of the window, watching people pass by with an amused expression on her face. “Pansy’s wedding. I couldn’t let the bitch think I was all alone while she was getting married.” She sighs almost wistfully and I can understand why. Her date to Parkinson’s wedding was fucking fit.

It’s not an uninteresting suggestion and I don’t really have the will to argue with Daphne. She would do whatever she wanted, whether I agreed to her idea or not. I could either go along with it or hex whoever responds to the damnable ad if he proves to be a dick. And if that happened, the outlaws of wizarding Europe will simply have to deal with it and with my _female hysteria_. After all, it is not like I haven’t already duelled, and defeated, some of them.

“Fine, I don’t care, do whatever you –”

“Brilliant!” Daphne yells out, causing the few regulars to look over and mutter amongst themselves. She stands up, dons her cloak and gives me another once-over. “Please tell me you’re going to make an effort and look at least presentable.”

I try to smile at her but it’s more of a grimace. “Are you implying I usually don’t look presentable?”

“No, no… It’s just…,” Daphne puts a hand on my shoulder and I lean my head into her arm, squeezing my eyes tightly shut so I don’t start crying at the tenderness with which she’s looking down at me. “Astoria, are you… Okay?” She asks.

I don’t open my burning eyes, the scenes of death and destruction playing out behind my eyelids, as real and tangible as if I was once again in the midst of a destroyed castle, and not sitting in the relative safety of a shady pub in London.

Shaking my head slightly, I pull away from my sister. “Not really,” I mutter, opening my eyes only to be met with her worried face. I manage a lacklustre smile. “But, another drink or two and I’ll feel better, functional.”

I know she’s not happy with my answer, but it is the best that I can give her right now. Daphne nods her head once and walks away from me, tying her cloak tightly around herself. Aeschylus gives her a small package before she exits the pub and I am once again left alone with my thoughts and the disapproving looks from a one-eyed bartender.

I put a couple of Knuts and Sickles on the table to pay for our drinks and drape my cloak around my shoulders. Aeschylus is busy with serving a hag so I step out of the pub without saying goodbye. Knockturn Alley is dark and dreary as always, but at least the rain stopped. I make a couple of stops in various Knockturn Alley shops, depositing some smuggled items, too delicate to be handled by someone else, to be sold before I make my way to Carkitt Market to have a talk with Aunt Melina. She isn’t actually my aunt, but it is the way we have always called her.

Aunt Melina owns a townhouse close to the Apothecary, a prime location, especially for her business. She creates illegal Portkeys, enabling discreet travel for those in need. It is easy enough to slip into her house while apparently going about your business and end up wherever you wanted to go in the world. A very lucrative enterprise.

I knock three times with the silver knocker shaped like a labyrinth and wait for aunt Melina. She is from Crete and the labyrinth is her own private joke, both referring to her trade and her origin.

Melina opens the door with the usual wide smile adorning her face. I do not know her age and she always looks the same to me so I suspect she uses rejuvenation potions regularly, making it difficult for her face to make subtle gestures, instead it’s always an overemphasised smile or a deep frown. “Astoria! Welcome, _koukla mou_!” She says, her English heavily accented. Melina hugs me and kisses my cheek, the scent of her flowery perfume overpowering as she leads me into her cluttered kitchen, pots and pans mixed with silverware adorning the numerous shelves lining the cream coloured walls. We sit down at the table and she pushes an envelope towards me with a wry smile.

“Good for blackmail, _nai_? Open it, see.”

I raise an eyebrow at her and open the red envelope. It is filled with moving photographs of various Ministry people, some of them highly ranked, in compromising positions. Very useful. Aunt Melina has her own network of people, trading information and passing it along to us. I grin at her as she lights up a cigarette with her wand, puffing out smoke to the side.

“And our other business?” I ask, storing the envelope in my bag.

“It is going well. You can tell your father there is no need for concern. This new Portkey regulation… It is easy to bypass, for me,” Melina says with a suggestive wink. I don’t want to imagine how exactly she managed to find a way so quickly, even though it’s not difficult to connect the dots. She is _friendly_ with the Head of the Portkey Office, John Rochester, an elderly wizard. I involuntarily shudder at the thought of the two of them together.

I get up, take my bag and smile at Melina. “I have to go, but someone will be back later to collect the gold.”

She waves her arm in an offhand manner. “Yes, yes, of course, as usual. I know you are busy.”

After running more errands, I Apparate to the Port of London Authority. Father wants me to make sure our shipment of illegal potions comes through without a problem. It is an important shipment, product of a recent deal with the Israelis and we can’t afford an embarrassment so early in the relationship. Our man reassures me there will be no problems tonight and I give him a pouch filled with Galleons for his trouble.

Done with my less than legal activities for the day, I pick up some Thai food and Apparate to my shop, settling down behind my desk. I am about to open the takeaway containers when the door swings open, the glass rattling inside the wooden frames from the force.

“What the fuck is this?” Draco Malfoy storms in, clutching a copy of the _Afternoon Prophet_. In the two weeks that I had been avoiding him, I had almost forgotten how his presence affects me, my cheeks feeling flushed and my insides hot.

Draco throws the paper on the desk in front of me and I furrow my brows. The paper is open to the ads and I flinch, remembering Daphne and her idea. Somehow, it slipped my mind that she was actually going to do this. Working always puts everything else from my mind, which is one of the reasons why I like it so much. Makes life a little less difficult when I’m not constantly thinking about the war and my guilt.

He’s staring at me, disbelief written all over his face.

“I, uh, it was Daphne –”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his silvery hair. “You know what? I don’t even care. I’m here, answering your bloody ad. I’ll be your fake date to this… Fundraiser and that’s it.” There is a mischievous glint in his grey eyes as he says this and the ad disappears from the _Prophet_ , faintly glowing gold before vanishing. Draco perches himself on top of my desk, something he does often when he visits, and gives me a wolfish grin.

“What? No! You can’t… I didn’t...,” I trail off lamely, rubbing my neck.

“It’s a binding magical contract. So you have to take me.” Draco seems to be enjoying this situation far more than it’s appropriate, but I can’t find it in me to try and find some sort of a loophole. There probably isn’t one. And I have always loved playing with fire.

“Fine.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s a statement that sounds like a question. I don’t want to get into this right now, but I have a feeling Draco won’t let it go easily.

“Yes,” I say, because there is no point in lying to him. He would see right through me, he always does.

He rubs his jaw thoughtfully and I can’t drive the image of the last time we saw each other out of my mind. Draco opens up the Thai food and pushes it towards me, my stomach rumbling. I haven’t had anything except Firewhisky since yesterday morning and I’m starving.

“I thought we were friends,” He says while I eat, casually failing to mention my little breakdown.

“We… We are friends. I’m just… Having a difficult time.”

Draco doesn’t say anything to that, letting me eat in silence while he walks around the shop, looking extremely interested in some ancient scrolls that have been sitting in a shelf for ages. No one ever spared them a second glance besides him.

I finish eating and feel awkward just sitting there so I get up and come closer to Draco, who has taken up residence in an antique armchair in the middle of the shop, reading the previously discarded _Afternoon Prophet_. He folds the newspaper when he notices me hovering over him and grins at me. I find it strange that he is in such a good mood after I admitted to avoiding him but I’m not about to argue over it. I sit on the cushioned armrest and stare out of the window at the darkening Alley.

“Astoria… Will you let me help? I mean, with whatever. I can just sit silently with you if that’s what you need. Obviously, I can also pretend to be your date to this thing tomorrow because it’s important if you let Daphne badger you into putting out a damn ad,” Draco laughs at that and I smile. I have missed the sound of his laughter, all rough and sharp, like he isn’t used to laughing. And he probably isn’t.

“Just… Maybe don’t shut me out? If that’s what you want, it’s fine, I won’t pressure you into anything and I’ve given you space, but I’ve gotten to know you and… Well. Yeah,” He finishes, unsure of himself and a tear rolls down my cheek, unbidden. I brush it off. As much as I tried to avoid him, I still clearly remember all the things he said, the ones he wanted me to hear, and the ones murmured in a low voice, thinking I was asleep. It hurts me to think I am hurting him by being the way I am, and yet, I also find it comforting that he decided to let me be, that he seems to put what I want before what he might want. Or else, maybe he changed his mind, but I do not like to think about that.

The candlelit lamps outside have come to life, the Alley filled with dark shadows outside of the invisible boundary where light doesn’t penetrate. It is strange, the way a simple street can be so sinister but I had never felt afraid while walking through it. Instead, the eerie darkness makes me feel calm.

Draco is probably right in saying I should let someone, let _him_ , try and help me. I’m not exactly sure if I can even be helped, or how, but when he offers, it’s very difficult for me not to agree. I _would_ like to feel normal again, but… I am not sure I remember how normal feels.

“Okay… Yeah,” I finally whisper, my voice almost breaking in saying those two words, and had it not been for the wide smile that appears on Draco’s handsome face, I would’ve thought he hadn’t heard me. “Meet me at mine, nine o’clock. Dress fancy.”

“I always do.”

* * *

I’m just wrapping myself up in a towel, wet hair clinging to my bare shoulders, the mirror in my bathroom all fogged up, when there is a knock on the door of my apartment. I glance at the watch father gave me when I turned seventeen, an old thing that belonged to grandma Eleni before she passed away, one of my most prized possessions, and roll my eyes. Of course, I am running late and Draco is inconveniently punctual.

It’s exactly nine o’clock but I went for a drink at the Wyvern and ended up playing cards with Aeschylus, forgetting about the time, possibly on purpose. Aeschylus liked to cheat, which made it all the more fun to actually beat him even when he cheats, the old man muttering in Greek about the _diavolikó koritsáki_.

I walk out of the bathroom and through the rest of my messy apartment, with books on the floor piled precariously on top of each other, making the trek through the living room an adventure in not causing them all to topple down. Some of them are old school books, filled with doodles drawn by Jack when he would get bored during lessons, or with old photographs that Colin took, tucked away between the pages, or Rona’s notes hidden in potion ingredients lists, that I do not want to, that I physically can’t, throw away.

I open the door to see Draco casually leaning against the hallway wall and even though I had already seen him in various states of dress (and undress, I think to myself drily), I am still left with my mouth slightly open at the sight of him. Dressed all in black, except for the traditional white shirt, his suit fitted perfectly, he makes me rethink my attire for the evening. For once, I would actually have to listen to Daphne and make a proper effort.

“Are you done staring?” Draco asks, a familiar smirk playing on his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair, styled to be purposefully messy, giving him a handsomely roguish look.

“Er… You took the meaning of fancy to a whole new level,” I say, motioning for him to follow me inside. He settles down on the sofa, looking up at me with interest.

“Well, I am meeting your family. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to come to this party looking like a troll.”

I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen, opening the fridge and leaning down to grab a bottle of aged Dragonbreath. It doesn’t occur to me what kind of a show I put on until I turn around to see Draco with wide eyes and looking mildly flustered. It’s my turn to smirk at him. I pour him a glass, not asking if he wants to, and put it in front of him on the small coffee table which is miraculously free of clutter.

“You’ve already met my family, and besides, this isn’t a real date so it’s not like you need to impress them,” I say, shrugging casually and playing with a strand of blonde hair.

Draco’s face darkens slightly as he takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I guess that is true. Why do you need a fake date anyway?”

I sit down on the coffee table, careful not to let my towel slip. “I’m not sure how much you know or suspect but this isn’t actually a fundraiser for a children’s ward of St Mungo’s. I mean, it is, but it’s also a front for my father’s associates to meet and talk business…” I trail off, waiting for Draco’s reaction. I haven’t exactly involved him in my work before, only mentioning things in passing and I’m not sure if this will be too much for him. But, he merely raises his eyebrows and waves his hand for me to continue. “Not only that, but my uncle Diomedes, the most important _nonós tis nýchtas_ in Greece, and his family, are coming as well.”

Draco’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and I mentally roll my eyes at myself for speaking Greek. Aeschylus and Daphne are a bad influence. “Sorry, it means _godfather of the night_ , it’s just a stupid title. Well, maybe not stupid but… Anyhow, Andreas Doukas, or Andreas the Dickhead as Daphne and I like to call him, is his second-in-command and his idea of having fun is harassing women. Including me. Uncle keeps him around because he’s useful and bloody good at… His job. And I can’t afford to lose my shit and start cursing him in front of people who I really need to not think of me as a hysterical little girl. Image and reputation are extremely important in my line of work, especially when you’re a woman wielding power over men.”

“And…”

I sigh. “And you’re my human shield.” He smiles at that and doesn’t ask more questions, which is a good thing because I should’ve been ready ages ago. I leave Draco in my living room while I rummage around my closet, looking for something appropriate to wear. My eyes fall on one of the dresses that Daphne designed for me. It’s blood red and short, coming to my mid-thigh, with straps crisscrossing at the back. Some of the scars adorning my legs will be visible, but I am proud of them and they do not bother me. I’ve never worn that particular dress and yet somehow, it seems like the obvious choice for tonight. It’s distracting enough that people, _men_ , might not notice what exactly they’re agreeing to if father decides to do business tonight. And I am quite sure he will.

Shedding my towel, I grab a matching pair of black knickers and a bra and slip into the dress just as Draco sneaks up on me, hovering in the doorway, holding his half-empty glass. I see as his grey eyes wander all over me reflected in the floor length mirror.

I turn around to face him and his eyes stop at my scars. Even though he’s already seen me naked and even though I am proud of each and every scar that adorns my body, still, I bow my head, not wanting to see a look of disgust on his face. Draco comes closer, his woodland scent enveloping me as he gently raises my chin to look up at him.

“You are beautiful,” He whispers and a chill travels down my spine at the tone of his voice, the hungry look apparent on his face.

I take a couple of steps away from him, thinking this was a very bad idea. The effect that Draco has on me should not be encouraged with a fake date. But, the magical contract can’t be truly broken, so I need to set some ground rules.

“First rule of this fake date is no kissing,” I say and Draco gives me an amused grin. “The second rule is no excessive touching, and the third is absolutely no dancing. Oh, and, yeah, the fourth rule is that you really need to be on your guard because when there are so many, er, criminals, in one place, things might turn very ugly very fast.”

He’s still grinning and I don’t think he takes my rules very seriously. “Do you understand?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

Draco salutes me with his glass and downs the rest of his drink. “Of course, love, you know I’m great at following rules.”

I roll my eyes. “The fifth rule is you don’t call me ‘love’.”

He just laughs at that, eyes twinkling with mischief and I have a sneaking suspicion that there is a devious plan forming in his mind. Draco settles down on the armchair I usually use to put away dirty clothes on before I wash them, but thankfully, I did all my washing yesterday so it’s empty.

“You going to be ready any time soon? I thought you said nine,” He says.

I open one of the drawers in my nightstand and take out two silver, goblin-made knives and black elastic bands, designed so the knives would fit perfectly in a fold in the middle of each band. “I got distracted, but we’ll go soon,” I say while I pull my dress up and strap the bands around my scarred thighs, slipping the knives in.

Draco raises his eyebrows at me. “Are you going to war or a fundraiser?”

I shrug and give him a devious smile. “War. Fundraiser. Both. Really, it depends on who you ask,” I say and wave my wand to dry and style my hair into something decently attractive. Fishing out make-up from the depths of another drawer, I turn my head towards Draco who still looks very confused. “Sometimes, there are protective spells that can’t be breached with magic. So goblin-made knives are the way to go. Hit Wizards use them regularly. I doubt we’ll actually need them but you never know,” I mutter somewhat darkly. With my red lipstick done, I get up and grab a small black bag and my black leather jacket, tying up the laces of my black leather combat boots, offering Draco my hand so we could Apparate together. He gets up and entwines our hands, smiling down at me.

We Apparate to a small London alley in Kensington, near Hyde Park and I lead the way towards a street flanked with row townhouses. They all look the same, the same style and obvious wealth on full display, but only one of them is actually The Serpent, a magical bar and restaurant owned by my father. One of his legitimate ventures that are perfect for maintaining his image as simply a successful businessman. And for cleaning gold.

We pass the magical barrier set up around the perimeter which feels like a light breeze flowing over us, and Myron, one of my father’s closest associates, becomes visible, dark, tall and burly, standing at the door, wand at the ready for any sign of trouble.

Draco snakes his arm around my waist and smirks. “Let the show begin,” He whispers in my ear, hot breath tickling my neck and sending shivers down my spine, and I almost jump away from him, the closeness of him overpowering my senses, but I gather myself and smile up at him, hoping it actually looks like he said something a boyfriend might say and I’m too in love with him to respond with anything but a smile.

We climb the three steps leading up to the door and Myron winks at me with a kind smile. He was one of the people who followed my father and me into the Battle of Hogwarts. Myron is like an older brother, someone who knows what I’ve been through and who goes out of his way to look after me when he can.

“You’re late,” He says, eyeing Draco with a distrustful look, his dark eyes lingering on the arm around my waist. I am sure Myron knows who Draco is, who he used to be, but with one look from me, he sighs, shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

“We’re fashionably late,” I answer with a smirk. “Is everyone else already here? Uncle Diomedes?”

Myron nods and opens the door for us. Draco guides me inside even though he has surely been here a lot less than I have, and yet, I let him because it gives the impression that we are actually together.

The Serpent is, as one would expect from the name, decidedly Slytherin in ambient and decor, with lush green furnishings along with silver accents, hardwood floors and expensive furniture. My father is a very proud Slytherin and likes to show it off. A band is playing soft instrumental music, magically amplified so it’s heard equally in all parts of the bar.

The place is filled with people, the rich and the famous easily distinguishable from the rich and the criminal, if you know what to look for. The ones who have a retinue following them on a respectable distance, never far from their employer, who usually has a beautiful woman on his arm, if not a wife or a daughter, then his current plaything. But those are rare because, behind almost all of the successful ones, there is a woman holding the family together.

My mother is no exception, arm entwined with father’s, both of them strikingly beautiful. They look perfect together and they are, in a way. My parents almost never fought, their ambition overcoming any and all obstacles. Even mother’s family, a lot of them Death Eaters, had not managed to drive a rift between them. My father may be many things, Lord of Shadows among them, but he does not discriminate when business is involved. Not choosing a side in the wars has made him increasingly powerful, not to mention wealthy. His only weakness is family, mother, Daphne and I. When I stayed behind in the Battle of Hogwarts, he came after me, he fought with me in disguise, without much care for what it could cost him. My bravery and willfulness might be a sore point with him, but he would have never let me fight alone. I love him for it.

My parents stand with uncle Diomedes, who looks uncannily similar to father, only slightly younger, his dark hair slicked back and longer, and his eyes are a dark brown. Uncle Diomedes is also tanned, the Greek sun making his skin almost bronze. He’s talking with mother, a couple of his people standing close by, but thankfully no Andreas yet, though I am sure he is here somewhere. Father smiles when he notices me, his bright green eyes lighting up when they lock with mine, but then his gaze moves on to Draco and I notice the smallest of frowns appearing on his face. He motions for us to come over.

“Come on,” I say to Draco, looking up at him and biting my lower lip, slightly nervous at the prospect of introducing him to my parents.

Draco looks at me darkly and leans down, once again whispering in my ear. “Don’t do that,” He mutters in a husky voice.

“Do what?”

“You know what. Bite your lip.”

I pull away slightly and give him an amused look. “Why?”

He doesn’t get the chance to respond because we’re suddenly surrounded by my parents and uncle Diomedes, father apparently having decided we were taking too long.

“Astoria!” Uncle Diomedes roars in his gruff voice, smiling widely and kissing both of my cheeks. “ _Eísai ómorfi_! Are you well? Ah, you must be, no one can look that beautiful and be anything but well! My brother is lucky to have such wonderful daughters like you and Daphne,” He says, dark eyes looking me up from head to toe and then switching to Draco.

“And who is this?” Diomedes asks.

I open my mouth to answer but at that exact moment, a tall man with a scar on the side of his face saunters over, carrying an almost empty glass of champagne. He would be handsome if he didn’t have a permanent sneer on his face. And if he wasn’t a dickhead.

“Indeed, who is this?” Andreas Doukas says, his voice silky smooth, the way he stares at me making me mentally gag. Draco’s hold around my waist tightens considerably and he leans down, grey eyes dark as they lock with mine. And even though I specifically stated ‘no kissing’ as rule number one, Draco brushes his lips against mine, hands travelling slightly lower than appropriate in the company of my parents and uncle, the touch of his lips making my mind go slightly fuzzy and igniting a fire inside me.

I pull away before I completely lose my mind and Draco smirks, a smug look on his face. “This is my boyfriend,” I say, smiling at uncle Diomedes and completely ignoring the lewd look Andreas gives me.

Draco shakes uncle’s hand, “Draco Malfoy, sir. A pleasure to meet you,” he says and nods to my parents. Of course, they already know him, he dated Daphne for a short while in their fifth year, and obviously, our families know each other. Still, my father is frowning and I know he does not like the idea of his daughter dating a former Death Eater. Mother, on the other hand, is beaming at Draco.

“Astoria,” Father says in a soft voice, “Come with me for a moment.” He cocks his head towards the bar manned by several bartenders and busy enough that we wouldn’t be easily overheard. Draco plays his part perfectly, giving me a longing look as I leave him with mother, Diomedes and Andreas, who makes a point of staring at my ass and I notice Draco’s jaw clench and his fists tighten slightly.

I sit down on a bar chair and father orders us ouzo, his drink of choice. He sits next to me and looks over at Draco. “I have never told you who to date and I do not plan to,” He says, turning his eyes towards me, “I will only ask you to be careful, and only because I love you. I do not want to see you hurt, _paidi mou_.” Father smiles down at me, his green eyes twinkling and he seems younger somehow, when he isn’t so hard and serious. He brushes my head, an affectionate gesture since I was a young girl and it makes my eyes burn, tears threatening to spill out. I blink a couple of times to make the feeling go away. “I trust your judgement, Astoria, and I do hope he makes you happy. You certainly seem to have… An effect on him,” Father says, chuckling as he takes a sip of his ouzo “And if he does hurt you… Well, I _will_ personally murder him.” Someone else might think that he is joking when he says this but I know better. He is deadly serious.

“Er… Yeah… Where’s Daphne?” I ask, fiddling with the strap of my bag. I do not like lying to my father and the fake date isn’t for his benefit anyway, but still, it would be stupid to tell the truth now.

“Ah, your sister is with Yanni and Korinna and the children out in the garden. Joséphine is with them, as well,” He mutters and I want to laugh at him. Even though he’s been married to my mother for so long, he’s never been my grandmother’s biggest fan. Of course, ever the diplomat, he’s managed to maintain a fairly decent relationship with her. And even though they’re not related by blood, my grandmother dotes on the children of my cousins, which means Daphne and I get reproaching looks and mutters about ‘when will she have great-grandchildren?’ every time they visit.

Father downs his ouzo and looks around the room before standing up. He puts a hand on my shoulder, his face once again serious. “Listen, the Croatians are here and they are _not_ happy with us, especially since you almost killed Luka,” I roll my eyes at this because the fucker deserved it, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I bend my head slightly so I could see behind my father, my eyes quickly settling on Luka Marić, the Croatian crime lord, specialised in dealing magical weapons and explosives. He’s relatively young but ruthless and intelligent. Luka killed his old boss and took his place at the top of the organisation two years ago. Like most Croatians that I’ve met, he’s very tall, with dark hair stylishly falling into his cold eyes, a girl on his muscular arm. She doesn’t look much older than seventeen. I smirk as I notice the red scar on his neck, courtesy of my wand.

“You think they’re going to try something?”

“No. Well, only if they are extremely stupid, and Luka is not stupid. I’m going to talk with Diomedes about our business in Thessaloniki, you keep an eye out for any trouble,” He says and leaves me sitting there alone, going off with mother and uncle Diomedes, sitting at one of the tables, back against the wall, with a good overview of the restaurant.

Draco comes over once he sees I’m alone, hand casually on the small of my back, tracing circles on the exposed skin. I can feel Andreas staring at us so I don’t brush him off.

“You already broke the first rule and now you’re breaking the second rule,” I mutter as I sip on the ouzo. Draco smirks at me, nodding at the bartender and ordering a Firewhisky.

“Rules are there to be broken. And besides, the dickhead is eyeing you like a piece of meat so you should be grateful. I don’t think he’d quite believe we are together if we don’t touch.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I mutter as he sits down on the bar chair my father just vacated, putting his hand on my thigh. I’m about to pull away but Andreas walks towards us.

“So, Draco Malfoy, tell me,” He starts, standing too close to me and putting his arm around my shoulders. I have to stop myself from flinching, my stomach turning at the feel of him, and the look on Draco’s face is murderous. “How did you get my Astoria? She has always been so… _Echthriká_. Hostile. You would think I’m her mortal enemy,” Andreas says, playing with the strap of my dress, hand wandering underneath it, brushing over my collarbone as he leers down at me. I almost gag at his touch but all of a sudden it disappears, Andreas seemingly frozen in place. Nobody notices and I look at Draco, his wand quickly hidden in the band around his forearm. He doesn’t smile at me as he takes my hand and leads me away in silence. I can feel the tension radiating off of him and I wonder if this was maybe a very bad idea.

I don’t realise it until Draco’s hands are around my waist but we are on the dance floor, people swaying all around us and we are just staring into each other’s eyes, standing still. Draco buries his head in my hair, the familiar mix of woodland and spice engulfing me, calming me down and my arms snake around his neck of their own accord. “I don’t fucking care about rules,” He whispers and an electric jolt goes right through me at his words. “Dance with me.”

It feels as if there is a magnetic force between us, pulling me ever closer, my body bending into his as we dance. It is like there is nobody else on the dance floor, in the whole fucking world, except the two of us, while Draco gazes at me and I get lost in his grey eyes, steady, seemingly always there for me. Ignoring the voice in my head yelling at me that this is fake, that this is a really, _really_ bad idea, I stand on my tip toes and this time, I kiss him, our lips moving slowly together, tantalisingly teasing, Draco’s tongue licking my lower lip and I smile when I remember his word from earlier. Every movement we make is perfectly in sync and I feel truly happy for the first time in a long time. Before, he made me feel alive. Now, I think he makes me happy. I pull away slightly and grin at him, the same grin mirrored on his own face and there is even a faint blush on his cheeks, something I had never noticed before. I would have to tease him about it later.

I’m pulled back into reality with an exaggerated cough and the sound of slightly accented English. “Mind if I cut in?” I turn my head slowly and find myself face to face with Luka, a smile playing on his lips, a smile that doesn’t reach his dead, calculating eyes. The girl is next to him, entrancingly beautiful, but so very young, her perfect, white teeth on full display. Draco’s hold tightens around me, but I give him a subtle nod and he relaxes.

This is business and so I let Luka take my hand and lead me away, leaving the girl to dance with Draco. The musicians are playing a slow song, and I have a feeling Luka might have paid them so we could talk. I know I am not here for dancing. He is a perfect gentleman, hands not straying anywhere they shouldn’t and I raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“What a wonderful evening,” He says, his English almost flawless. “Your father does know how to throw a party… It’s a shame.” He twirls me around and I tense up at his words. “Your partner is quite notorious, Astoria Greengrass. But,” Luka dips me and brings me back up, the music picking up speed, “I do not appreciate being… Humiliated. So,” again, he twirls me around, giving me a full view of Draco dancing with the girl, “You must suffer.”

I turn cold at his words and watch in horror as the girl pulls out a knife from a fold in her dress. Time slows down, adrenaline rushes through me, and I am grateful for the boots I wear because I kick Luka in the balls just as I pull one of my own knives and throw it at the girl before she has a chance to stab Draco. The knife strikes true and lodges itself in her throat, her own knife clattering to the floor, the girl crumpling down as I rush over to Draco, hugging him close, the buzzing in my ears so loud that I don’t hear the shouting of my father’s lieutenants as they deal with Luka and the rest of his retinue.

My heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest and in that moment, looking up at Draco, seeing him alive and well, I realise I can’t bear the thought of him dying. I can’t… I can’t live without him.

I grab his face and kiss him hard, our teeth clashing together, and I _need_ to be closer to him. Closing my eyes, I take his hand and suddenly we’re inside my apartment.

We’re clawing at each other’s clothes. I rip off Draco’s white shirt and throw it to the floor, my dress slipping easily off and for a moment we stand there looking at each other, breathing heavily. But I can’t stand it so I put my hands around his neck, tangling my fingers in his blonde hair and I kiss him again, tongue slipping into his mouth, legs wrapping themselves around him, feeling his hard cock through his trousers.

Draco carries me to my bedroom and throws me on the bed, a feral grin playing on his lips as he looks at me. Slowly, I unhook my bra and let it fall down, then hook my fingers around my knickers and pull them down, throwing them on my nightstand and grin at him. “Near-death experiences always turn me on,” I say and somehow, it’s the words that spur him into action as he leans over me, kissing my lips, my jaw, trailing kisses down my collarbone and between my breasts, sucking on each nipple, his fingers lightly rubbing my clit as he kisses my hip bone.

I moan loudly at his touch and grind against his fingers. I need more friction but Draco continues with his slow kisses. His head is lower now, lips trailing the scars on my thighs, until finally, he licks my clit, tongue hot and wet, pushing a finger inside me and I yell out, hips bucking into him. He sucks slowly and teases me until my mind goes blank and I can only bury my hands in his hair and push him closer until I feel myself shaking and screaming out his name.

I am still slightly dazed when Draco kisses my ribs, fire trailing each kiss but the pressure inside me is still there and I need him. “You’re so fucking hot when you come,” He whispers, kissing the sensitive skin on my neck, in the place where he knows makes me weak and I snake my hands around his neck, flipping us so I’m straddling him. He is rock hard as I slowly stroke him and he closes his eyes, biting his lip when I rock against him, teasing him like he did me.

But, Draco grabs me around the waist, fingers digging into my skin, impatient, and he thrusts into me, letting out a low growl from deep inside his chest. I rock against him hard and fast, his lips sucking on my erect nipples, and I throw my head back in pleasure as I feel the pressure building more and more until I can’t hold it in and clench tightly around Draco, screaming. He buries himself deep and I feel him coming undone, shaking almost as much as I am, holding on to me until he’s done. I fall on top of him, his shallow breaths tickling my neck and I roll away slightly, laying next to him.

I don’t know how long we lie there, silent, the only sound that can be heard is of our ragged breathing, but my mind is in overdrive as I process what the fuck just happened. No matter what else I think about in those moments, Luka, the girl whose life I just ended, the only thought that fights its way to the front of my mind is that even thinking about Draco being hurt or dead causes me physical pain, my heart and chest hurting until I reassure myself he is still there, right next to me.

“Astoria…” Draco starts, his hand finding mine, entwining our fingers, and somehow, even that simple gesture makes me turned on again.

“I… Fuck it, I fucking _love_ you. There. I’ve said it,” He says, sitting up suddenly and not looking at me, running his fingers through his hair. “I have no idea what just happened but I love you. I can’t… I can’t be your _friend_. I can’t be your _fake_ date. I… I can’t. I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting and I don’t know how to help you and I want to be there for you but I fucking love you and not being with you is… Painful and I –”

He stops because I sit up and smile at him. I take his face in my hands and look him in the eyes. “Draco, stop talking.”

“But –”

I kiss him then, shutting him up, a slow and lazy kiss, another smile forming on my lips as I pull away.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> since Astoria's family is Greek/part-Greek they sometimes use some Greek words/expressions. here are the translations&explanations in order of appearance (thanks to Bunbury@HPFT for looking over the Greek for me): 
> 
> Ti kánis? / How are you? 
> 
> Kalá, efharistó. Esí? / Good, thank you. You? 
> 
> Kalá, kalá. / Good, good. 
> 
> koritsáki / little girl 
> 
> adelfoúla / little sister 
> 
> koukla mou / my doll (literal meaning but it's a general term of endearment) 
> 
> nai / yes 
> 
> diavolikó koritsáki / diabolical (devilish) little girl 
> 
> nonós tis nýchtas / godfather of the night (nonóí tis nýchtas is the exact expression - godfathers of the night, which is what Greek crime bosses are locally described as) 
> 
> Eísai ómorfi! / You are beautiful! 
> 
> paidi mou / my child (but used with everyone, a term of endearment) 
> 
> ouzo / a traditional Greek dry anise-flavoured aperitif 
> 
> Echthriká / hostile


End file.
